30 day guroOTP combo challenge
by Jacthine
Summary: This is just a compilation of all the drabbles that I'm going to write for this challenge. Be warned: there is lots of blood and will probably and most likely have triggering events (self harm for an example) in which I write about, along with some sexual situations. Main pairings will be Rusame and Norame.
1. Amputation Hand Holding

**AN:** Guess who saw an idea on tumblr and acted on it again? I did~! So I present to you the 30 day guro/Otp combo challenege! Be warned, this is completely unedited. Just as a general warning, this is gonna be packed full of blood and shit like that, so watch out. I'll put individual warnings in each chapter though, so yay! Anyway, I'll be doing multiple pairings, mostly rusame and norame, yadda yadda yadda. Please rate and review, I can always use a little critiquing! Also, sorry if this sucks, its my first attempt at gore. And author notes will be shorter in the future, I promise!

**Day 1: **Amputation + hand holding

**Pairing: **Norway/America

**Warnings: **Kinda, sorta anti-gay in terms of plot (Not that I am! I'm just using it for the sake of a plot!), and that's pretty much it. Guro is a given.

* * *

There wasn't a lot in life that Eirik loved. Coffee was one, sweets another, but never in his life would he ever imagine himself to fall in love with something other than an inanimate object. However, here he was, holding hands with the one human who had somehow crawled his way through the metaphorical barrier the Norwegian had set up. With a smile that could light up a room and the humor of a five year old, Alfred F. Jones had captured Eirik's interest right from the start, and he'd been so enraptured that even through three long years they remained, united with interlocked fingers...

Even now, as tears streamed down his lovers face, wide, terrified eyes betraying his attempted mask at calmness. His grip was tight - how could it not be? - the coarse rope on their wrists binding them together whether they liked it or not. Rubbing their skin raw, Eirik could feel Alfred's fingers flexing, a habit he had learned about long ago that the other did out of fear.

Presented before them was a large crowd of people, all of which he had no clue about, nor did he care. Men, women, and children alike all huddled together, jostling each other in an effort to gain a front row seat to the 'show'. Many were yelling, the sound deafening in his opinion, slurs and insults the only distinguishable noise coming from their mouths. Alfred's sobs was only a faint background to the crowd's riot. To be quite honest, Eirik would much rather see them all burn alive then ever have the pleasure of walking on earth. They were the cause of Alfred's crying, of their pain, and they didn't deserve the lives they wasted.

For he and the love of his life were tied at the wrist, the rest of their bodies bound to chairs. Apparently, the place they had decide to vacation at that year wasn't friendly to gays, and they were now being forced to sit and watch as they were punished for their so-called sin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eirik saw a man clad in a dark robe pull a blade from the folds of his fabric, the metal glinting in the light emitted from the torches around them. If the situation were any different and they weren't fearful of their lives, Alfred would have gladly pointed out how this all reflected a movie he watched, or even name the kind of weapon their punisher was currently sharpening.

Alfred kept on flexing, kept on crying hysterically as the robed man stood in front of them, raising the blade high above his head as he angled his body slightly.

The roars of the crowd grew in volume, drowning out his own pounding heart and rapid breathing. Beside him Alfred was practically shrieking, calling out to the heavens for an answer, an explanation, anything that could ease his panic, yet he found none. Sweat trailed down the nape of Eirik's neck as he shut his eyes and squeezed Alfred's hand painfully tight just as he caught as glance at the man swinging the arm holding the blade down towards them.

For a second, there was nothing; the screaming was gone, both the crowd's and Alfred's, along with the feel of his lover's hand. All in that moment was the darkness that came with sleep and the fear.

Then, like an explosion of senses, came the next second.

Eyes shooting open, Eirik let free a screech that burned his throat, only vaguely aware of the morbid cheering that was born from their pain. There was without a doubt that Alfred was screaming just as loud, if not more, even if he couldn't hear him over his own voice. Without thinking, he took a quick look at where the immense pain was coming from.

Eirik felt sick to his stomach, actually tasting the acidic traces of bile in the back of his mouth as he witnessed the damage. Blood was already pooling around his and his lover's wrist, more following suit with each beat of their hearts. The only object their hands were connected to were each other's fingers. The place where his wrist met his hand was a mess of red, a single swipe of the blade enough to cut through the tissue and bone. It burned and stung more than anything else he had ever experienced, the tears he had desperately been holding back making themselves known by running tracks down his cheeks. And the worst part of it all wasn't the pain, the laughing and jeers coming from the crowd, nor was it the promise of more pain that was sure to come.

No, it was none of that. For through the mindless noise came a wailing cry to his right, one he had become all too used to. The worst of it was listening to Alfred - the only person he had ever loved in such an intimate fashion - scream for mercy, for a quick and painless death that was never to come, cursing the very god he had worshipped in the past, that he had thanked for such a bountiful life what seemed like an eternity ago. The same one that he insisted led them to meet.

And suddenly, the tears in Eirik's eyes weren't from pain, but the emotion that swelled up within him for the man he had loved so long, so much, so devotedly.

The last words that crossed his mind before he passed out and never woke were that of utmost importance.

_Til death do we part, Alfred F. Jones..._


	2. Decapitation Cuddling

**AN: **This one is like, twice the length of the other, I'm sorry, I got carried away. Any who, I had a lot of fun with this one, and I decided to play around with how I wrote it. It might be a little weird by doing so, so yeah... Please enjoy, favorite and review!

**Day 2: **Decapitation + Cuddling

**Pairing: **Russia/America (rusame)

**Warnings: **Kidnapping, lots of blood

* * *

_From somewhere in a small country home, a slow song drifted through the halls. It was slow and had a rustic sound to it, the tell-tall whine of a single violin prominent with undertones from the remaining orchestra. It was a tune you would find playing at the most prestigious of get-togethers instead of a simple home, but yet it played on, painting a scene of peace. Outside, the crisp night wind carried its own music of insects and the distant cries of the forest crawlers._

_.oOo._

It had been a mistake, walking home at night. Ivan should have known it all along. But he continued on from the small bakery he owned, ignoring the warnings his sister seemed insistent on texting him. Turning his phone off had been mistake number two, him realizing this as he stepped onto the more infamous part of town to reach his house just beyond the region known for its multiple crimes.

With shifty eyes, the Russian had clutched his keys tightly, indents finding their home on his palm as the grooves dug into his skin, the feel insignificant to him for his sense of sight and sound were his crutches at the moment. His right erupted in a mess of banging metal, startling him as he tensed and prepared to fight. A cat hissed and skirted across the alley, a few others in pursuit. Ivan stood frozen for a second, body relaxing slowly as he chuckled nervously, letting his hands fall to his side as the fear in his heart finally started dwindling. Resuming his walk, he took a deep breath. Everything would be fine.

.oOo.

_The faint sound of humming could be distinguished when a certain point of the house was reached. Granted, you'd have to get past the carnage that was on the way. Broken glass littered the floorboards and if one looked closer, blood was clearly visible. From who, the question remained open, but one thing was for certain: the wreckage followed a specific path, one that led right to a long hallway, all the way down to the last door on the left. The same door that was splintered on the edge, more of the bright red color that stood out, contrasting highly with the stark white of the painted wood. If an individual were to stand there, a humming could be heard ever so slightly, a nice and gentle addition to the instrumentals._

_.oOo._

Utopia for many was a place surpassing what we experience on earth, where all there was was the safety and happiness humans have craved and fought for so devotedly. However, just making it home to his cramped and noisy apartment would be heaven on earth for Ivan. Although, all of his hope for a peaceful night was ripped from him as hands shot out from behind, jerking him back and into the solid wall of a body that was the criminal that had decided he was prey. His hope wasn't the only thing wiped away; the second Ivan felt the cold, cruel metal of a gun press harshly against his temple, a voice like sandpaper spoke close to his ear.

"You're not going to scream or fight. You're going to sleep and come with me." Lest he wanted his mind on the street instead of survival, Ivan did as he was told, breath ragged and tears swelling at the bottom of his eyes as he used the best of his ability to understand the last bit. Sleep was the last activity he would consider at the moment, yet the truth of the stranger's words was made painfully obvious not a second later when a cloth was shoved rather forcefully to cover his mouth and nose. With a mess in place for his mind, Ivan felt his internal panic both rise and fall, the drug diluted rag numbing his mind, his body delaying slightly. Not even having enough of a composed brain to form a final thought, Ivan collapsed at the feet of a man, who smiled happily at the sight before him. Hefting him easily over his shoulder, a hum could be heard through the alleys of the dark.

.oOo.

_Should someone open the white door, they'd be faced with a staircase, one that wound up and around, holes and dents in the walls surrounding it. The humming just kept growing stronger, the music more soft with each step. And suddenly, much earlier than anyone could have expected, it opened up to a lab of sorts, one that was once clean and stable, where no one would have questioned a thing save for the tools that seemed much too sharp and big for a scientist. That was then. Now, what was left behind was either a scene of horror or a morbid twist produced from the hands of an artist who favored the color red. The room was an explosion of it, decorating all of the surfaces within and bringing with it a deathly silence that only the humming could properly penetrate. And like a center piece found at a dinner, there lay a body, the neck mangled with bits and pieces flung onto the walls and table. Everything lay in place, red draped over like a sheet, a puddle in position where a head should have been._

_.oOo._

Ivan had woken to a bright light burning his eyes, groaning as he clenched them shut again. Trying to rub the drowsiness from them wasn't an option either; trying to do so only resulted in discovering tight binding on his wrists, ankles, neck, and waist, rendering him utterly immobile. Squinting up at the light, he groaned softly again, struggling weakly against the restraints. Then, granting him a brief moment of mercy, the irritating light was whisked away, replaced by a spotless ceiling. However, the sight was gone just as hastily as it came, a head adorned in a mask suit for Halloween if Ivan remembered correctly. It was hard to do so, the drug from before hitting him hard. The eyes were visible though, showing the bluest irises Ivan had ever seen, a golden fringe obscuring any other trait that could be helpful in knowing. That didn't stop him from trying to speak to his kidnapper, only gutteral noises slipping past his lips at his attempt.

A muffled laugh came from the masked stranger, eyes crinkling at the edges being the only indicator of a smile. Then, the head moved, standing up straight and turning away for a minute. "You're really pretty," came from the man, the sound of metal against metal reaching Ivan over the other's voice. Could this possibly be the rough voice from earlier? It wasn't possible. This was too young, too angelic to be that, yet the facts were made plain and clear. "That's why I picked you. Its gotten lonely here in this house, and since I haven't had fun in a while..." There was a pause of silence that left him curious, about to speak up before the sputtering of an engine echoed in the room, just an introduction to the roar it produced when started. It didn't take a genius to know it was a chainsaw.

"So how about you and me have a good time, hm?" And like the light had did the contrary, the teeth of the tool came into Ivan's peripheral vision, chasing each other around the bend and back again. Any trace of the drug fled his body in fear, the straps holding him down stronger than himself, and for once he regretted time spent with family as opposed to going to the gym. The white of the mask came into sight again, the eyes folded at the edges. He was smiling, wide. "Heads up!" A laughter only comparable to ones seen in films overpowered the growling tool held in his hands, joined in with the cries for help that Ivan found the strength to voice.

Then, without the slightest hint of hesitation, the maniacal stranger let the teeth sink into the tender skin at Ivan's neck, tearing it to shreds upon contact. And all he could do was watch in horror as his own blood dressed his body and the room around him, the laugh never ending as the pain from the wound could only match up with how much blood flooded the table beneath him along with his mouth. The coppery taste accompanied by the sight of a ski mask were the last of Ivan's memories, his life being played off with the morbid duet of a boy and his chainsaw.

.oOo.

_Beyond another white door lay another room clad in red, though the splatters were now waves, a silk blanket draped upon a man. On the ground lay a discarded mask, the inside of which bared a name, scratched in with a pocket knife. Alfred. The owner of said mask lay comfortably still, chest rising and falling, humming along to the tune that carried all the way up. Discolored sheets next to him showed clear signs of another red, one much darker, richer than anything that could ever be bought. The source lay just by the man's - Alfred's - head, a hand pressing the object close. It was easy too, without the annoyance of a body in the way of his arm. It was perfect really; a head without a body was truly the best cuddling partner one could ever ask for. _

_Opening his eyes slowly, Alfred gazed into the cold, lifeless pools that had become Ivan's own eyes. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind the decapitated head's ear, the blond smiled. "Red is such a nice color on you..." he mumbled innocently, kissing the cheek of the head softly, licking off the stain that had added color to the pale man. Going back to humming, he closed his eyes, pulling the head close to his body and relishing in the feel of the warm,moist feel of blood smearing on the bed and his own body, knowing that this had to be one of his more fruitful endeavors, Alfred let the lulling sound of the music and his own humming guide him to a peaceful sleep, glad to know the head pressed tight again his chest could enjoy an eternity of undisturbed slumber all thanks to him. He really did feel like a hero sometimes._


	3. Cannibalism Gaming

**AN: HOLY** SHIT, DID SOMEONE SAY LONG FIC?! I hope this makes up for missing a day. Plus I worked on this since like, eleven and finished at four thirty in the fucking morning. The things I do for you guys... Anyway, this one is over two thousand five hundred words, which is a fucking lot cause I had to type it all up on a fucking phone. There's a special place in hell for me. Ugh. Anyway, tell me if you like it, and if you do, don't forget to favorite!

**Day 3: **Canibalism + Gaming

**Pairing: **Russia/America (rusame)

**Warnings:** I can't even begin to tell you how much gore is in this. Its a lot, like, a fuck load. Plus, there's some sexual talking and a bit of necrophilia. If you're not into that, go head right for that back button.

* * *

If Alfred remembered correctly, it had all started with a bet. A stupid one, but a bet nonetheless. He could recite what he had mindlessly said word for word. It was impossible not to - Ivan kept reminding him every five seconds.

_Whoever wins this round gets to do whatever they want with the other's body!_

It was by far the worst thing the young nation had ever done, because now, as he and Russia sat side by side, it was painfully obvious who the winner was going to be. Judging by the rapidly increasing tower of colorful shapes Alfred's side of the TV sported, the victor would soon be Ivan, who sat pleasantly humming, tapping away at his controller as if it were nothing.

America was _not_ someone who liked to lose, no matter how ridiculous the game was. How they had ended up playing Tetris was a mystery to him at the moment, attention all zeroed in on the screen, but the regret that filled his entire body wasn't avoidable in the least as a red, flashy warning popped up near his blocks.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! Goddamn cheater!" he yelled, the insult directed at both the console and the large nation next to him, who glanced slyly at the frustrated blond.

With a giggle, Russia quickly pointed a finger at the mass of blocks clogging up the other's space. "It seems as though your tower matches up with how incredibly dense you are! I do hope that you follow all of my orders when I win our little wager." That earned him a quick shove and another shouted curse from Alfred, who had missed his chance to clear a few rows by doing so.

Not jarred in the slightest by the push, Ivan went back to merrily switching and planting the blocks how he wished, the tune a nice background to Alfred's constant raging. His own side displayed a low build up, vanishing blocks a common sight should one look over. He really didn't see how Alfred was so surprised he was losing; this was the game of his_homeland, a_ personal favorite. The cheerfulness of it was much preferred over what his eccentric lover seemed to worship. He'd take the classics over some gaudy shooting game any day. However, the nation couldn't deny the fact that after witnessing Alfred blow through countless bloody, gore-filled scenes in his games, the idea of bits of it reenacted didn't sound too bad...

So engrossed with thinking of how lovely a deep red would be to accent his lover's skin, Russia was torn from his imagination when music started blasting from the speakers on the TV. A quick look at the screen revealed that America's tower had grown too much, leaving the nation cursing and yelling, a spot-on imitation of a tantrum thrown by a child. Well, it practically was, but that wasn't the point. The point was that a bet was made, and Russia wasn't going to let him find a way out of it.

"That was so fucking stupid, I should have won! The game is broken or something, I swear..." Alfred ranted, throwing his controller and standing up with a huff. His urge to break it rose, but he restrained himself. Having a broken console wouldn't help in this case, but maybe a bat to defend could. Ivan might have been his boyfriend, but with a bet like the one he laid out, there was no telling what he would do. After all, Alfred had to go through with it. Of course, he wouldn't do so without a fight, but knowing just how stubborn they both were and how he never went back on his words, he already knew he'd have to do as Ivan wished. Playing a constant game of cat and mouse before he crumbled would be tiring.

Sighing, he turned to see the larger nation already up, smiling a creepy smile that Alfred absolutely hated with every fiber of his being. "Alright, you stupid _commie_-" Just because they were dating didn't mean they were nice to each other. "-what are you planning? Let's just get this over with before I end up kicking you out."

Eyes narrowing at the jab at his past and the small threat, Ivan held his smile. "My, my, you are quite enthusiastic about this, are you not? I knew you liked submitting to me, but this is far too easy for my liking," he retaliated, smile turning into a smirk as he caught the faint blush that spread like a wildfire across the other's cheeks. His pride really was too fun to poke at. Before Alfred could get another word out, Ivan held up a hand to silence him. "Let us just go to the kitchen and I will show you what I want." The clean up would be the least time consuming with the room he hoped.

Mumbling dejectedly, America crossed his arms and led him to the other room, leaning against one of the counters while Ivan got busy walking around and looking through drawers. Scoffing, the blond sent a glare Russia's way. "What, are you gonna make me cook for you? Aren't you afraid I'm gonna poison you or something?" They were nations and could handle things like that better, but he knew in his heart he couldn't do that. He wasn't _that cru_el... At least, not when they weren't fighting. If so, America would gladly load a whole box of rat repellent into the nation's precious vodka.

"Actually, I was thinking we could take a trip down memory lane," came Russia's voice from the corner of the large kitchen, and America swore he could hear the amused grin he had. When the other turned, he was right about the expression, but it was the gleaming object he held in his hand that peaked his interest.

Staring for a second at the item, his eyes traveled upwards to Ivan's. "Is that a fucking _butcher's_ _knife_?" The question was asked not in fear, but in disbelief. Alfred didn't even remember having one, and was actually interested in what his lover planned to do. His original guesses of humiliating and/or demeaning sex went out the window when Ivan started approaching him, flipping and throwing the knife up with expertise. Alfred winced slightly everything the handle blade landed safely in Ivan's palm. "And what do you mean 'memory lane'?"

And in a flash it was as if they were sent back decades ago. America found himself on the floor, pinned down by Russia's massive body. He would have moved, even shouted at the other to get off if it weren't for the sharp edge of the cleaver being pressed against his throat. "Do you recall our little _meetings _during the Cold War?" America could hear the sickly-sweet tone the other's voice was dripping in, the very same one that had caused so many sudden fights, all of which left them both a bloody and bruised mess. It sent chills down his spine, even more so when the pressure on the blade increased. Right, he was asked a question.

"I remember alright..." There was no way he couldn't. Back when the whole nuclear arms race started, they did everything in their power to see each other, if only to beat the everliving shit out of the other. America remembered all of the blood they spilled, how they both came home soaked to the bone in red. Whose, it didn't matter. All they saw in the few minutes to even hours they fought was hatred.

Alfred silently thanked whoever was listening that they hadn't blown each other up. Dating Ivan was one of his best decisions, even if he did regret it sometimes, but it wasn't like he'd admit that.

Above him, Ivan chuckled darkly, a noise he hadn't heard in years. The knife finally broke skin, Alfred gasping sharply and biting his lip as he looked up at the other. If it were anyone else doing this, he would have flung them right off of him, very possibly even crushed them underneath his hands, but with Ivan...

He was looking down at him with a look that would make him collapse if he were standing. All hooded eyelids and dark purple, they caught his gaze and was unable to look away. It didn't help much that the smirk that showed the slightest hint of Russia's canines, white and looking sharp. America couldn't help but imagine them biting into his skin instead of the knife, a choked back moan exiting him at the thought and the sting of the new cut in his neck.

As if he could read minds, Russia lifted the blade, placing it to the side as he leaned down to lick at the blood that had welled from the wound. The action only made America clench his eyes tight, refusing to show just how much this was affecting him. But as he felt that oh-so talented tongue turn into rough sucking and biting, all and any hesitation he had flew away just as fast as his hands went to tangle in the pale hair of his lover.

The blood just kept easing its way to the surface of America's skin, Russia relishing in the taste and leaving bite marks all over the expanse of the other's neck. It was so delicious, _so_ _beautiful_, better than anything he could ever imagine. With his boyfriend so vulnerable, it was a mental challenge on whether he wanted to fuck America right there on the floor or make this little experiment last longer. After seeing some of the blood he missed slowly trail down the taut, bronzed skin and drip onto the white tiled floor, the answer came easily.

Pulling back (but not without a whine from America), Ivan grabbed the butcher's knife again, involuntarily licking his lips to catch any remainders of the liquid. Now, practically straddling the smaller nation, a twisted smile found its place on Russia's face as he tapped the knife on America's chest. "What if I ripped your heart out? Decorated this kitchen with red and ate you from the inside out?" The sweetness was back, but was made increasingly better by all of three things. Ivan's hot arousal grinding against Alfred's every time he shifted, the way he could feel the tip if the knife poking right where his heart was thundering in his chest, and just the smallest iota of malicious intent hidden deep within Russia's voice.

This was going to be the _best_ bet he ever had the pleasure of making.

"I fucking dare you." It only took four words and a subtle wink from the nation below him for Ivan to make a move. Raising the cleaver high above his head, he swung as hard as he could into the chest covered in much too many layers of clothes, basking in the scream of pain that was torn from America's throat. Pulling it out just as quickly, he saw droplets of blood fly, landing how and where they pleased, granting the knife another coat to match the pooling currently happening dead center of the younger nations chest. The view from where Russia was sitting was magnificent, near perfection, and it would only reach that status once he reached the very same heart he had claimed as his own emotionally. The mental image of doing so physically almost sent him over the edge.

With the enthusiasm of a child left to do as he wanted, Ivan brought the knife down, again and again, working up a rhythm and laughing as he saw the twitching, jerking movements caused by his actions. Blood now brought color to the once-white kitchen, trails and splatters staining every surface it found. By now, the irritating problem of clothes on the upper half of America was solved, the blade cutting through it and leaving the muscled chest free to hack at.

Through the metal and the handle, Ivan felt everything; the tearing of flesh, how it produced the most beautiful of colors to adorn his lover, creating a nice backdrop by emptying onto the floor. The crack and snapping of bones was likely the greatest of feelings, Ivan straying from the objective of his lovers heart just to experience the way they gave in almost effortlessly to his swings.

It barely occurred to him that Alfred had long ago stop moving, stopped the wet, gurgling noises brought on by the blood filling his mouth. His attention was not on how he stared lifelessly to the ceiling, nor was it on the way the only noise was produced by himself. No, it was on the now gaping chest Ivan had successfully made, and especially the way a certain something lay within it, other organs and a broken ribcage doing its best to cradle it.

Alfred's heart; big, red and gorgeous, just how he pictured it. Throwing the butcher's knife to the side, the tool now much too large for this task, Russia proceeded to grab it with one hand, using utmost care in doing so, and with a single hasty pull, he had his prize.

"You really do have a pretty heart," Ivan cooed, staring at the dead body beneath him with such affection it'd cause another sickness upon looking, he took a glance towards the organ. "I wonder if it is sweet as you say."

Without a moment of any doubt, the nation sunk his teeth into the tissue, groaning as he did so. It was the best taste he had ever allowed to enter his mouth, a true hero's heart tasting of both copper and spice, of sweets and carrying the most alluring of aromas. A genuine cuisine if he'd ever had one, and it was only the first bite.

Chewing the heart slowly, savoring the flavor and feel, Ivan rocked his hips ever so slightly on the motionless nation, moaning softly as he found the other to still be erect. This certainly was a plus for Russia, who continued to lick and bite at the organ in his hand while rutting himself against America. And it was in that moment that he knew what true perfection was, how the heavens tasted and looked, all because of a bet made by his stupid - or in this case extremely _genius - l_over, Ivan making eye contact with the dull blue of the other.

It came as a surprise when he came not a second later, twitching and an utterly moaning wreck in Alfred's lap, heart slipping from his fingers as he fell onto the open chest of the blond, thoroughly exhausted. Ivan panted hard against the corpse's neck, idly licking up some of the blood close to him. Smiling lazily, the large nation closed his eyes, cuddling up to him without the jagged edges of broken bones stabbing into his side.

With a final kiss lid onto the (now cold) lips of America, Russia fell into a comfortable and peaceful sleep, sticky and wet from body liquids alike. When he awoke, hopefully the other would be all healed, because what was considered art to him not five minutes ago was just a bloody, red mess now. But that would be taken care of later. Right now, sleeping off a day well spent was his best option, chest pressed against America's side, the cover photo for a brutal murder.

Who knew video games could be so productive?


	4. Body modification On a date

**AN: **Okay, here's the next thing for this challenge, sorry its super late! I've been going through a lot of shit lately in terms of family and my own feelings, so I just haven't had the motivation to write much. But I promise, I'll have at least one other story posted by today, or else I'm just plain lazy. Also, sorry if this sucks. I got completely stuck on an idea for this prompt and made the ending super lame.

**Day 4: **Body modification + On a date

**Pairing: **Norway/America (norame)

**Warnings: **There is close to nothing wrong with this chapter. Like, seriously. There's a bit of a sexual situation at the end, but that's almost nothing and turns out to be super romantic, at least in my eyes. So yeah. The tamest chapter yet and will probably continue to be. Also, I was way too fucking lazy to even look over this, so its basically completely unedited and typed up on a phone. Yea.

* * *

People were staring again. Whether it be at their hands, which were held together tightly, or their appearance, they were staring. Alfred couldn't blame them; they were practically walking billboards, but instead of advertisements, they displayed their hearts and souls, showing the world just how much they were-

"Freaks! Go back to the circus!"

Across the street, the sound of laughter erupted, a group of college-aged students pointing at said 'freaks'. His grip on his boyfriend's hand tightened close enough to be painful, and he heard Eirik next to him sigh. Another day, another fucking insult directed at them just for expressing themselves. Honestly, Alfred couldn't wrap his head around it, and anyone who even spoke of them in a bad way made him want to show the one doing so just why he wore rings on his fingers. It would have been the greatest of pleasures to pulverize their faces, make them undistinguishable, leave them a bloody, fucked up mess and spit on their graves.

Eirik stopped and placed a gentle hand on his arm, stroking it lightly. It was a signal they had made long ago, one that meant Alfred was crushing his hand.

Instantly letting go, he mumbled a quick apology and blushed up to his ears, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His anger and self control still needed some work, even after the therapy, even after trying so hard not to blow up and seriously hurt someone...

Sensing his embarrassment, Eirik rolled his eyes and nudged his lover lightly, continuing to walk slowly next to him. "Don't be so down. I understand, it's fine." Alfred was tempted to argue, to tell him that he didn't deserve to be in a relationship with someone so nice, but kept his mouth shut and eyes on the ground, watching the steel tips of his boots reflect the light of the sun. "Come on, look at me... At least hold my hand."

"I'm gonna hurt you again," the American mumbled, stopping and bringing his hands out of his pocket only to stare at them, looking at them desperately as if they held the key to his depression. They didn't, obviously, but it didn't stop Alfred from continuing to look st them, irritating both his boyfriend and other people walking past by standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

He and his lover were those people you thought of when you told someone to think of ones who threw their life away; the faux leather of his jacket hiding his arms where on his left there was a sleeve of tattoos trailing all the way up to his shoulder. His right arm was currently in the process. With one inch ear gages insisted upon by Eirik, not to mention the studs on his dimples and the rings on his eyebrow. The Norwegian was barely any different, the tattoos of his choosing instead decorating almost the entirety of his back, hair dyed an insanely white color to match his pale skin. If it weren't for Alfred's opinion on the matter, the man would have happily gotten the horn implants he wanted, instead settling for the Prince Albert piercing they compromised on, which Alfred would have praised any other day, but now? Not so much. If anything, it made him a rainbow of horrible feelings, ranging from disgust to embarrassment.

"They're right. We're just a couple of freaks, weirdos who don't know how to fit in with society and should just be left with the circus. Its where we belong, where we're supposed to be. The only thing our bodies are good for are setting an example of what not to be..."

Just because he didn't argue about their relationship doesn't mean he couldn't argue about something else.

But, glancing up to judge Eirik's reaction, he was surprised to see a glare. Usually the other agreed with him; they were different, aside from the rest. With piercings and ink covering their bodies, they were something to be avoided, a couple of circus acts. Granted, talking about it commonly involved plenty of alcohol and pent up aggression, but that didn't matter. The point was that his boyfriend usually was on his side, but now he looked at him the way normal people looked at them.

Without a word, Eirik grabbed Alfred by the wrist, ignoring his protests as he dragged him around the corner and down the block, pulling him into a bar. Once they were inside, he headed immediately for the bathroom, thankfully finding it empty shoving the younger male inside before going in himself and locking the door.

"Eirik! What are you do-!" Alfred's words were cut off by his lover's mouth on his own, the feeling if his tongue stud running over his lips sending a jolt of arousal down his spine to pool in his gut. Finding the other's hands pull and tug at his hair, he moaned, using his own hands bring their bodies impossibly close, groping and touching wherever he could reach. Their teeth and piercings hit each other, having enough practice with this to not get stuck together anymore. The smaller male started grinding on Alfred, causing him to gasp and recklessly try and rid his boyfriend of his clothes. Eirik, however, was having none of it, instead insistent on pulling the other's hair and biting his neck to get him to halt in his actions. And with enough force, he did, whimpering to the Norwegian's touches and lips, which were now kissing a trail from his neck to his jaw.

Then, quite suddenly, he spoke, his voice low and warning. "Don't you ever say that again." Another kiss, followed by a small nip at his jaw. "We are not freaks, we are not bad. They just don't get it. They don't see how beautiful you really are..."

So that's what this was about. Although it did relieve Alfred, it also made him blush and try to hide his face, a movement that was impossible due to the hand holding his hair back.

"So beautiful..." Eirik muttered, continuing his affection by kissing at his ears, where his piercings shone in the dim light of the bathroom. His mouth moved again, going to his hairline and planting little kisses anywhere he could, paying special attention to the metal ring on his eyebrow before going down further. Looking him straight in the eyes, Eirik let their lips meet as he spoke against them. "I won't sit back while you continue to put yourself down like this. Now we are going to get out of this bathroom hand in hand, proud of who we are or else this date is over. Got it?"

It surprised even Alfred when his own head nodded as best as he could, the blush on his face still strong as Eirik et go of his hair and stepped back. "Good. Now just relax a little. You got me with you; getting angry over them will just make me jealous you know."

Laughing a little, the American just shook his head, running a hand through his (now tangled) hair. "You never were good at jokes, Eirik," he muttered with a smile, grabbing both of his lover's hands and leaning down a bit to lay his own kiss on the other's forehead. "Alright, I'm cool now. Let's go. I font want the body shop to close before our date is over."

With a small nod, Eirik led them out of the bathroom and the bar, walking down the street only to be met with more staring. But it didn't matter at all. He was happy, especially when he had Alfred's relaxed hand in his. Not to mention the other hand held a box securely in his jacket pocket, running his thumb over the soft covering over it.

No one would ruin this day for him or Alfred, not when it was so important. Today, they'd come home with a new ring alright, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be a piercing, but Eirik just knew it'd make their lives both all the more weirder, yet all the more normal.


	5. Masks Kissing

**AN:** Finally catching up to this challenge. Its one in the morning and I'm about to pass out, but at least I'm getting this out. I really don't like it though. Oh well. This one was hard to write for some reason. Ugh. Anyway, here it is, in all its shitty glory. I'll try real hard to do better, but I'm just really not used to writing guro. Bleh. Whatever, just ignore this one until I write something way more beautiful. This is also completely unedited. Like, I was seriously too lazy to even read over it again.

**Day 5: **Masks + Kissing

**Pairing: **Russia/America (rusame)

**Warnings: **Some kidnapping, super psychotic Ivan and Alfred, but they never actually use their full names. But there's nothing really bad, just in detailed gore and torture. Plus they use faces as masks, but whatever.

* * *

_February 14, 20XX _

**3:26 pm**

A monitor cane to life, going blue for only a moment before a clear picture took its place. The setting was that of a room, one with no visible windows from the device's point point of view. All that sat in the room was two chairs, the backs facing each other and thick rope holding them together. The picture shifted a bit - revealing it to be a video - before it stilled again and a man's voice was picked up.

"Come on already! The camera is all set up!" The voice was distinctly male, the one having said the words hidden presumably behind the recorder. To whom he was talking to was a mystery until sudden movement from the right edged into the shot.

It was another man, this one having a large frame and dragging what appeared to be a bag on the ground, upon closer inspection having on a mask of sorts. "I am here, stop shouting. You will wake them up somehow with that big mouth of yours." Another voice came through the mic, this one deeper and holding hints of an accent, belonging to the man on the screen from how distant it sounded.

The voice from before came back. "Whatever, dude, you love my mouth. Now hurry up with those things, I wanna get started as fast as possible! You know how impatient I am, Iv!"

The man with the bag - 'Iv' - groaned as he finally let go of the item and walked towards where the camera sat. "Yes, yes, we will get to it in time." He didn't deny the accusation the other made. "Just wait a while longer. I still have to get the other one out of the living room." Grabbing the camera, he pointed it away from himself, showing off the torso of the other, still unidentified, man.

The shot showed how the other crossed his arms, appearing to slouch slightly so that part of the bottom of his face appeared in the shot before disappearing once more as he stood up straight. "This is gonna take forever. Just shut that thing off while we both bring the body down. It'll be faster and we could get to the fun stuff quicker!" His hands were now on his hips, the camera shaking and moving every time the one holding it moved as well.

"As you wish, master." With the last word spoken in a heavily sarcastic manner, the shot tilted up, showing and upside down picture of the large man, the mask clearer to see for just a moment. It was one you would find in a Halloween store; just a simple white one that had a few colors and outlines on it to indicate where its facial features were as pale hair framed the outside of it. Due to the poor lighting, the eyes were just dark, round shapes, eyes seemingly gone. That was all the camera could capture before turning off, leaving the monitor black again.

* * *

**3:57 pm**

The camera light blinked red, displaying that it was on. It was back in its place, set to face the chairs. However, it was entirely different this time.

Their were bodies, two to be exact, sitting in the chairs and facing away from each other. From their differing hair lengths, one would assume the right one was a female, the left a male, although not much evidence to prove this could be seen. Their heads hung forward, unmoving and unresponsive. To the far left of the shot lay a table, looking to have tools on it, the kinds not close enough to specify. Other than that, it was the same room; no windows, no visible doors. Just the equipment, the two people in the chairs, and the man behind the camera who decided to speak up.

"Finally! I thought we'd never get to the actual thing!" It was the same voice from before, the one without a name. The person walked into the frame, coming from behind the device currently recording. With his back to the lens, it was made obvious he wore a simple outfit of jeans and a white t-shirt, blond hair stopping just at the nape of his neck. "Iv! Hurry up, man, I wanna get started already!"

Off camera, loud footsteps could be heard, getting louder until the large man from before came into view, still wearing the mask and copying the other in terms of attire. "Al, if you do not stop yelling, then I will have to keep you from even doing this with me."

The threat seemed to have made its intended effect, for the blond man now dubbed Al shook his head and waved a hand. "Nah, you wouldn't do that! You love me too much! Plus its valentines day, and we've been looking forward to this forever. Now come over here and help me wake these two up."

Iv sighed, physically deflating as he moved to the closet sleeping human - the female. Crouching before her, he pulled out something resembling a pocket knife from his pants, the fact made true when he pressed the blade open.

On the other side, Al was doing the same. Looking closer, one would be able to see his completion to be deathly pale, but find it to be the trick if the eye. Like the other man, he also adorned a mask, white and like porcelain from such a far distance.

Both of the men held their pocket knives, looking at each other without a word. Then, with a single nod from the larger one, both let the blade sink deeply into the thighs of their victims, without mercy or hesitation. Then, like an alarm, two shrill screams filled the room, the tied up people throwing their heads back and waking from their slumber.

Through the screaming came laughter, the source being Al, who watched in apparent delight as the man in front if him continued yelling as he looked down to see where the pain cane from. The camera caught the jerk of the masked man's wrist, the pocket knife cutting up more of the other's thigh and serving to make him much more vocal.

"I fucking love this!" came Al's loud voice, highly noticeable among the girl sobbing on Iv's side and the screaming that was currently dying off on his. Both of the men stood, leaving their knives embedded in their victim's thighs. They didn't have to worry about them when their hands were all tied up.

The two walked over to the table carrying all of their instruments, muffled voices unable to be formed into true words by the camera mic. Nevertheless, it did pick up on the demands now made by the tied up man.

"You monsters! Let us go! You sick fucks, I'm going to kill you!" The man just kept yelling, trying to appear intimidating despite his position, the tear tracks on his cheeks not helping. The girl cried continuously, in shock and fear, body shaking due to both the immense amount of feelings and the bawling. The men at the table paid neither their attention, instead choosing to invest their time in discussing the contents on the table.

Then, in the blink of an eye, both of the masked men turned around, each one holding multiple items, ranging in size and shape. The most notable of them all happened to be a clearly defined pipe that Iv was carrying. The yelling man's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the lethal looking tools in their hands, his voice replaced by struggling against the rope. "No, no, stop!"

"You see that, Iv? We haven't even started and he's about to piss himself!" Al laughed, walking up to the boy and setting the rest of his utensils down in order to hold just one in his hand. From where the camera was set down, it looked like a regular piece of metal, but both the tied up male and Al knew it was a scalpel, one of the two more excited as shown by the way he dragged it lightly across the other's neck. He didn't date to make a move besides trembling, not even breathing as the sharp end of the blade dusted his skin.

Al chuckled, his partner walking up next to him and tapped the pipe against the man's head. For a second, all that could be heard the crying girl, no one else making a sound. Then, the blond spoke, his voice low and soft, almost a purring noise as he trailed the scalpel up to the victim's jawline.

"Don't bruise their faces. I want them clean and beautiful when we're finished..."

The only indication that he got was a subtle nod from Iv, removing the pipe from the man's face to circle the duo, letting the metal scrape against the floor as the girl's breath hitched, head thrashing to try and get away as he stopped in front of her. And with a quick swing of his arm, he crashed the pipe against the girls knees, the same time Al used the scalpel to make the man's thighs match, letting the sharp metal.

Everything was in synched, planned long before this act was even started. From the screaming to the blood, it all was planned. The way they squirmed, how loud their voices were. It didn't matter much; they were out in the country, a place where no one could hear or find them. The brains and the brawn, Al and Iv, were perfect. Their plan was flawless, executed without a hitch.

Of course, it was only the beginning and it was music to both of their ears when the two started wailing and cursing at them, their pain enough to get then going, proceeding to do what they did best; injure and main, disfigure and break, going on for hours. Laughing like the maniacs they truly were and strived to be.

It never once, in the time spent torturing, did their weapons or even hands touch the either of the victim's faces, only blood gracing their expressions in place of the lives that slowly, agonizingly, slipped from their bodies and the pain that continued to wrack the empty shells that had become their bodies. The last thing the camera caught before cutting to black.

* * *

**7:17 pm**

The setting changed the next time the camera turned on. This time, the room was warm looking, a bedroom with a king sized bed right in the middle of frame. It looked normal, cozy, as if the end hadn't just stored in its memory the brutal and unmerciful murder of two people. Then came the voice, sounding relaxed and almost like someone was singing.

"Iv! I have the camera set up! Come out already!" It was the man known as Al, coming from the side of the device's shot, only capturing the blond's body. Instead of the white shirt and jeans that had been thoroughly ruined with the last session, he was bare chested, the hem of his boxer shorts able to be seen just barely.

"I am just putting final touches on mask, do not worry," a voice called back, the large body of Iv coming to wrap his arms around the other. "There. Happy?"

A laugh came from one of them, most likely from the blond. "I love it! I love you, too! I'm so happy we decided to do this." His tone was laced with care, the lens picking up on the way his hand idly rubbed circles in Iv's side, along with the way his body leaned into the touch slightly.

"Let us show the camera our work, yes?" There was a pause, where the other nodded no doubt, and suddenly the frame changed. A hand grabbed the machine and lifted it, tailing up their bodies and finally revealing their faces. Or, what they had covered them with.

Masks, made from the human skin of their earlier victims, unmarred save for the stitching holding the skin back. On the sides were cuts where literal ribbons of red held them secure on their faces. Eyes of blue and purple stared into the recorder, smiles permanent due to the intricate work they had done. Iv had the face of the woman - he always did like the soft edges of their looks - and Al the man's. The tissue was cleaned of any and all blood on both sides, the nose on the dead skin cut away to make room for their own, but otherwise, it was a replica of a costume seen in horror films, yet this story was all too real. It was a morbid art, one that took lives and earned them a special place on the FBI's most wanted list, and they were quite possibly the happiest they'd ever been.

"I think we look pretty awesome. Some of the greatest masks we've made," Al said, holding the camera still as he glanced at Iv. Through the sliver of a hole left with the mouth, a smirk could be seen. "This has got to be my favorite valentines day. By the way, can your tongue fit through the mouth?"

Iv, seeming to never be one for many vocal responses, let his tongue peek through the hole for his mouth, and Al didn't waste any time in talking, instead holding the camera steady as he leaned over and kissed him, open mouth and all. The mic recorded their small moans, lens switching in and out of focus as the two kissed, just the slightest hint of their skin actually showing. The masks shifted a bit, and they took a moment to fix them, Al laughing softly.

"I can still taste some blood..." he muttered, the mask lifting up around the mouth hole where his tongue went to lick t anything there. "Makes me horny..."

The next second consisted of the camera flying from the blond's hand and landing far away, conveniently doing so in a way that still got a shot of the two, their bodies pressed flush together while their mouths worked at each other, groans sounding muffled as they stumbled around the room, hands locked in each other's hair and mouth never leaving even for breath.

Practically tongue-fucking one another by now, it didn't take long before their faces went out of frame, their legs edging closer and closer to the device. Then, with a heavy step, one of their feet landed on the camera, the image cracking. A loud curse was heard before the image changed hastily, one of them having kicked the item. The picture sputtered, colors of the rainbow scrolling down the screen before, with a faint click, the screen went black again, forever keeping the secret of what it had seen.


	6. Surgery Swapping clothes

**AN: **Okay, this isn't so much as gore as it is angst, but whatever. Technicalities. I had a lot of fun writing this and I really hope that you like it! I made it really sad though, sorry. Not sorry. Just kidding, I love sad things. I'm a bitch when it comes to how I treat my favorite characters.

**Day 6: **Surgery + Swapping clothes

**Pairing: **Russia/America (rusame)

**Warnings: **Sadness galore. Character death. All that fun stuff. The smallest hint at self harm, but that almost unnoticeable. Its more of a habit thing anyway. I think that's it.

* * *

"I'm sorry. It's just the way medicine works. I'll give you time to think about it..."

The doctor's voice was monotonous, as if he'd done this enough to get bored of it. In all likeness, he probably had. Then, after a pause filled with nothing but the sound of Alfred's ragged breathing, the doctor turned and left the two men in the room, the door closing with a soft click.

Another pregnant pause, neither Ivan or Alfred moving from their place at the bed, where the former lay, blanket hiding the majority of the hospital gown he wore. It also his how thin his body had become, how there were painful looking scabbed-over scratches on his legs, stinging and ripping open every time he even shifted. Above the blanket his hands lay, fingernails cut down to the smallest of fractions, bones jutting out at sharp angles, making him seem skeleton like. With such pale and sickly skin, it wasn't a far off assumption.

The worst for wear was his face. Sunken eyes and cheeks, the red that always graced his face now gone, replaced with dark circles under his eyes of blue and black. Wiry hair hung over his forehead, patches missing from the back and top from where he'd been tearing it out, stress letting greys pepper among the palest blond. Ivan looked old, older than he should, and it was a godsend that the only reflective surfaces was the various medical machines and equipment, which couldn't do so very well. It killed Alfred to just look at the other, he couldn't allow Ivan to see just how far he fell.

The silence stretched on for ages, neither wanting to admit the obvious, but it was the man in the bed who broke the ice and let them both fall into the freezing water. "I have to go through with it. There is no other choice." His voice was scratchy, in desperate need of moisture, yet he said nothing of it, opting to fiddle with the plastic bracelet around his wrist instead. Ignoring the way Alfred's shoulders shook as he put his head down on the bed, Ivan continued. "I am going to die either way, there is a chance I will live longer with this surgery."

Still letting his eyes zero in on the birth date printed onto the white sticker, he didn't see the way Alfred lifted his head, and he certainly didn't see how the other's tears had been soaked into the warm blanket. Didn't see at all. "Ivan..." It was the only word he'd said in nearly two hours, a record for the usually vibrant blond. Shaking his head, he took in a shuddering breath before hiding his face again. "Ivan..."

Shaking slightly, the sickly man raised a hand, placing it on the soft hair he'd learned to love so much. Running his fingers through the locks and playing with it, he let the muffled, quiet cries of Alfred float through the large room. If anyone else were in there with them, he wouldn't even think of letting out a single tear. But that wasn't the case, things didn't work out like magic in real life, where everything was a cold reality.

"I am so sorry," Ivan sighed, removing his head when he felt Alfred raise his head. Watching the other remove his glasses and wipe at his eyes, the Russian could just feel his heart constrict within his chest. Seeing his love so miserable hurt him more than any disease could ever try. The other didn't say anything for a minute or two, just spending the time wiping at the tear tracks and irritating his eyes by digging his knuckles into them. Maybe if he couldn't see it'd be better for both of them.

After an eternity packed into a few moments, Alfred finally spoke, leaving his glasses to lay on the bed as he glanced up at Ivan's face. "Don't be sorry. It's... It's not your fault. It isn't anyone's fault." If it were, that person would be wiped off the face of the earth long before they even ended up in the hospital. "This whole deal just seems like a dream... A nightmare. I cant-" Words failed him, a choked back sob replacing the end of the sentence. Shaking his head again, Alfred stood up, leaving his glasses behind with Ivan as he walked to the other side of the room. His hands reached up to tug at his hair, messing it and pulling individual strands out.

It was when Ivan saw the hair fall to the floor that he had drawn the line, groaning as he made a move to get off the bed. "Alfred, stop, you are hurting yourself. Please go home and stay there for a while, I will-"

Alfred turned, pointing a finger at the man and glaring at him with such intensity that it terrified Ivan, wondering who had replaced his lover in the seconds of which he wasn't looking. There were tears in his eyes again, unashamedly dripping onto the floor as he began to scream. "Shut the fuck up! Just shut the fuck up, okay? You're not going to die, not now, not ever! So shut up and sit down!" Eventually, his yelling was overcome with the need to absolutely break down, and that's exactly what he did.

Dropping onto his knees, Alfred hung his head, sobbing and crying for the man still sitting up shocked in the bed. "I can't let you die! I can't live without you!" he managed to spew out between his weeping, rubbing so angrily at his eyes you'd think he was hitting himself. Hands supporting himself as he hunched over, he was the very picture of despair and agony, the heavy weight of heartbreak filling the room in the form of relentless crying.

Alfred continued on crying for what seemed like hours, tuning out the pained hisses from Ivan as he got out of bed, even disregarding the way he brought him into his lap, a gentle rocking motion attempted to calm the crying man. Judging from the way Alfred's sobs grew louder, it only served to make it worse.

"I-I don't want you to l-leave!" he bawled into the gown covering Ivan's chest. It barely occurred to him that warm was spreading from where he sat, the scabs on the other's legs ripping open and soaking up the bandage placed there by the doctor. Nearly hyperventilating from how hard the cries left him, he dared to look up, pausing just a moment to take in the sight.

Ivan was wearing his glasses, the lens reflecting the painfully bright light of the room creating a glare that partially his his eyes. It was a sight worthy enough to quiet him down for a second, any other given day able to bring a smile to his face. Now it just warmed the heart he thought had broke. With slow movements, Alfred lifted a hand to place it on his lover's cheek, thumb rubbing slow circles on the cheekbones he never knew Ivan had. To say the picture - albeit a blurry one - of him wearing his glasses was cute wouldn't even begin to give it justice, allowing him to stop crying for a second in favor of leaning in for a soft kiss.

"I promise, I will be with you forever, whether it be in life or death," Ivan muttered against the corner of Alfred's mouth, voice just as coarse as before, just as painful. Rocking back and forth rhythmically, he massaged circles in the other's back while the other smoothed out the blond's hair. "If it makes you feel any more secure, you are allowed... Allowed to keep my scarf, for now and forever."

Suddenly, Alfred jerked back in his lap, not quite believing what he'd said. "Ivan, I can't. That thing is like life to you, keeping it-"

"I want to give the remaining piece of my life to you then."

That effectively made Alfred go quiet once more, his grip on the fabric of the gown tightening. It physically hurt to hear the words for both of them, but it was necessary for either of them to actually go through with this surgery.

So, with ore tears betraying his choice, a simple nod came from Alfred, the answer to a million questions that had plagued them from the start. Seeing the action, Ivan copied it, pulling the other closer once more and rocking on the polished floors of the hospital.

Visiting hours would end soon, and then would be the time Alfred went home with not a man, but a strip of fabric snug around his neck, slightly damp in patches due to the never ending onslaught of tears. And it would be that same strip of fabric that lay on his neck forever absorbing a lifetime of tears and unspoken feelings to make up for the one would only leave the hospital in a body bag, and the world in a coffin, glasses placed carefully on his thin face. The last piece of happiness to carry him to whatever lay beyond the life he'd known.

It really was a shame no one worth while was their during his final moments, where he'd been hardly breathing on the cold table. Then maybe they could have seen the true peace he'd seen as his final thoughts were filled with endless skies of blue and fields of yellow, the brightest of flowers standing in the middle, a scarf hanging from his neck and arms open for a hug, one that Ivan gladly returned and never let go of.


	7. Stitches Cosplay

**AN: I **am always going to be one fic behind on this challenge, jfc. Anyway, here's the next one. This one was surprisingly easy to write. But I'm too lazy to edit it, so yeah. Bleh.

**Day 7: **Stitches + Cosplay

**Pairing: **Norway/America (norame)

**Warnings: **Just some gore in the middle, body modification I guess. Not sure. This one is pretty tame.

* * *

Alfred was an extremest. Always taking things to the next level, believing wholeheartedly that bigger is better and a few fireworks never hurt anybody. This way of thinking had caused many problems in the past, the list a mile long, and it kept on growing to this day. As a matter of fact, America was quite sure that this was his best idea yet, which could only mean it would end up being his worst.

He only began to realize this when his lover advanced on him with a buzzsaw.

"W-Wait!" he shouted, catching the attention of Norway, who stopped a few feet away with the tool in hand, a white apron, surgical mask, and goggles protecting him from the mess he knew would come. The smaller nation frowned behind the cover on his face, flipping the saw off so he could hear America clearly. "I don't think I wanna do this anymore..."

All Norway could do was stare at the other for a second, eyes narrowing as he glanced over him. The younger was strapped to a metal table, clamps of the same material holding him down, though it was more for his squirming than anything else. They both knew he could easily break out should he actual try. America's superhuman strength had always made itself known, and he noticed it early in their relationship that holding back on it was the safest way to go about life. Made his stupid ideas much less stupid than they could be.

Including this one. When the idea was proposed to him just a few days ago, Norway thought his love had lost his mind, but after a night spent convincing the other with both mind and body, America had somehow woken up with permission and a sore ass. Now both of them were regretting the decision to go through with this. "I told you this wasn't a good idea. Now look at you; went through all this work and you're backing out. I thought you were more stubborn than that."

And suddenly America stopped moving, instead glaring at the other. "Hey! It's not my fault! You're the one who couldn't get any anesthesia and is using that huge thing!" he defended, nudging his head, his only available body part, towards the tool in Norway's hand.

Rolling his eyes, the unrestrained nation put his free hand on his hip, holding up the buzzsaw with an annoyed look. "Look, you wanted this. I'm going to cut your tongue out if you don't make up your mind and keep rambling." It was an empty threat of course, Norway knowing he could never tire of that adorable, albeit annoying, voice. But cutting him up? The thought wasn't that jarring by now, years of seeing bloodshed making him disregarding of the liquid most days. Not to mention their abilities as nations, immortality granting them the chance to even go through with this. So, as long as his lover allowed him to, hacking him to pieces didn't need a second thought.

America glance back up towards the ceiling, pouting as he thought about the situation. It'd hurt, being sawed up and sewn back together, but Kiku was counting on him. He wasn't about to disappoint him just because he was feeling a little unsure. And it want like he was scared! Americans never got scared, not even by a little tool. So, taking a deep breath, he sighed and looked back to his boyfriend.

"Alright, I'm ready, man. Just fucking do it quickly. And don't do anything weird with my body or blood when I'm dead," the larger nation warned, causing the other to shake his head and turn the buzzsaw on again. The sound of the rotating teeth filled the room, America's doubt with himself returning once more.

"Don't worry," Norway's voice rose above the hum of the instrument, the man getting closer and hovering the tool dangerously close to his lover's abdomen. It made said lover's expression twist into one of regret. Seeing it, Norway chuckled, enjoying the way the other writhed slightly. "I love your reactions much more when you are alive."

America only had time to let a fraction of a thoughts go through his mind before immense pain filed his head and torso, the buzzsaw cutting in painfully to his tissues, scream echoing off the walls. He could feel the blade tearing the muscle even as it left him, tears stinging his eyes. The last image he saw before passing out was his lover looming over him, the saw a screaming noise as it was forced into his head, cracking bone as it went and finally the nerves in his body gave up, letting his inner-world switch to black, leaving the outer one to be covered in red.

* * *

"Hey, babe! You'll never guess how many people liked my costume!"

Norway knew that voice anywhere, the nickname only adding onto the painfully easy mystery as to who had slammed the front door.

Sighing, he got up from his comfortable seat in bed, turning the TV off and grabbing his coffee mug as he continued listening to America shout up the stairs to him, no doubt in the kitchen.

His guess was right, walking down the steps to find the man rooting through the fridge. The sight was hilarious to say the least, and it was all Norway could do not to spit his mouthful of coffee laughing at his lover.

He turned around and the view was even funnier. America was in full body paint, the colors of green and grey being prominent among a rainbow of dull and grim shades. They were separated by large stitches crossing over his body like a giant puzzle. Although most of them were hidden by the rags that covered the other's body, large, steel-toed boots gracing his feet and making every step almost as loud as the man wearing them.

The nation smiled wide at him for a second before noticing the pained expression on his face. Frowning, he crossed his arms and glared at the other. "I know that look! Don't laugh at me! I look just like Frankenstein's monster and Kiku said my cosplay was amazing, along with a bunch of other people. They even took pictures of me."

Shaking his head and putting his coffee mug down so he wouldn't spill it, Norway swallowed the liquid in his mouth before going over to America to wrap his arms around his neck. It was hard, given how tall he was compared, the boots not making the task any easier. "I think you look amazing, thanks to me." He ran a finger over the line of stitches trailing over the others face, remembering how he had been forced to use another tool for it unless he wanted his boyfriend's face a mangled mess. A large machete and the right amount of force had done the job easily and with a fairly clean cut. "It took forever to stitch you up. You owe me big time."

America pouted, arms wrapped tight around the other. "Well, you did a good job convincing everyone it was makeup, even when some blood leaned through, so I guess I do have to thank you..." Smirk making itself known on his face, he jerked his head in the direction of their room. "How about we test just how well these stitches hold up when out through some action?"

As Norway mirrored his look, America knew he had his answer, and just prayed that he didn't fall apart in the other's hands, literally or metaphorically, or else he'd never live it down.


	8. Zombies Shopping

**AN: **Let me just go ahead and say I am so very sorry for putting my writing off for a couple days. I am like, three chapters behind because of it and I am sorry a thousand times. I promise I'll do my best to make them up. I wrote this one extra long to kinda make up for it. I've just been hanging out with friends lately and tomorrow I have a party and ugh. Its all just so busy. Sorry again.

**Day 8: **Zombies + Shopping

**Pairing: **Russia/America (rusame)

**Warnings: **Zombies and everything that comes with them, like guns. Um, not much else. Character death? Though he's technically not dead... Whatever.

* * *

It wasn't often one found happiness when the world around you had turned to hell. With the loved ones you once held so bear and dear to your heart somewhere in the world either eating someone or with their heads blown off, it was hard to keep an optimistic view on life. It was part of the reason why walking into a home and finding a dead body with a gun or an empty pill bottle was a common occurrence by now, especially to the duo of Alfred and Ivan, who'd met right after shit hit the fan and the former nearly blew the latter's head off.

It was justifiable, by all means. Even Ivan would agree. After all, zombies were shot on sight by many. The Russian walker was just lucky enough to stumble upon the only survivor who wasn't willing to shoot his head off.

It was by some miracle as well when another zombie tried attacking the human and Ivan was strong enough to save him, as selfish as he sounded. It was like God himself had touched down on earth when the human put the gun away once he had taken care of the zombie that attacked him. It was when he introduced himself as Alfred and smiled that Ivan knew his life - well, technically _afterlife_ - was about to change drastically.

It'd been odd at first, and horribly difficult. Convertig the other from eating humans to eating animals and dead zombies wasn't that difficult for some reason, but that part didn't matter to Alfred. It was having a zombie friend didn't sit too well with any other humans, and there were now a total of five bullets embedded into his shoulders and chest where shooters had missed his head. Thankfully, none of them had been shotguns, but even if they didn't leave gaping holes in Ivan, Alfred did his absolute best to wipe out anyone who even attempted to hurt him. Him being a zombie, the large Russian never understood this, but his human friend kept explaining it for him regardless.

"You saved my life, so now I'm gonna try getting yours back! An eye for an eye, right?"

This was naturally followed by Alfred explaining that he didn't mean it _literally_ as Ivan reached for his eye to pull out and give to the human. It happened every time, and every time Alfred would avert his eyes and convince the other to put his eye back.

So now here they were, walking through an abandoned mall side by side, the human and the zombie duo who were both crazy beyond belief. They'd lost their minds, and it was quite possibly the reason Ivan didn't eat Alfred; couldn't eat what wasn't there.

Ivan had come up with that joke a while ago and attempted to tell the other about it, just to see him get mad. It came out as a series of grunts and moans that neither of them knew as any English, and so began the long, _long _journey to teaching Ivan how to speak again, but it paid off enough when the human finally learned that the walker's name was Ivan.

But that story was saved for another time, when they weren't currently doing something. For right now they were on a mission proposed by the overenthusiastic human, leading his zombie friend through the obstacles that had gotten in their way. Ivan was slower than the average human, so it was hard for him not to run ahead and lose the other, and he certainly didn't want that happening. Alfred urged him forward, practically jumping in excitement as he glanced back at the store before them.

"Come on, hurry! I wanna make you more normal, and this is just the perfect opportunity to!" His voice was loud, always drawing Ivan in, and that's exactly what he did, stumbling slightly as he ended up beside the human. His soft, skin covered hand wrapped around his own (gloved of course, to prevent Alfred from contracting the disease), dragging him forward and into the desolate clothing store. Glancing lazily around the large area, Ivan's eyes landed on the smiling blond, who stood with a hand gesturing to the racks of fabric, articles missing due to scavengers.

"We're gonna get you some new threads! You know, dress you up a little more! Cause the ones you have now are kinda..." Both sets of eyes traveled to the clothing Ivan wore, Alfred cringing and the zombie attempting to do so.

Around his neck were soiled bandages, wrapped by Alfred to hide the nasty bite nark that was there, the very thing that caused him to become just as brainless as his victims were after he was finished with them. His button down shirt had multiple holes from both bullets and him wearing them down. It was once a pale blue, but due to time and grime, it was more a brown yellow color, the splash of blue only visible in small patches. There was also red and rusty brown, both knowing exactly what from, but choosing to ignore it in favor of regarding the pants Ivan adorned. They had even more holes, the denim fabric of the jeans worn down so much that they turned thin, possibly tearable with someone with strength like Alfred. The least destroyed of his outfit were his shoes, but even then they were in horrible condition, the soles disconnected from the actual material, Alfred often making jokes about his shoes being able to talk. Ivan never did get that.

Perhaps the worst of it all was the immense stench that followed wherever he went, hanging off him like a cloak. It was the smell of death mixed with the acidic odor that every victim of the virus carried, all tied together with the everlasting hint of the metallic twang of blood. All in all, it was a_bsolutely putrid_, enough to make the strongest-willed men screw up their faces in disgust. Alfred had done just that when they met, but now, after what felt like an eternity but had been a few months in reality, he'd gotten far too used to the aroma. It helped when attacking the zombies that actually wanted to kill and eat him.

To say he needed new clothes was the understatement of the century, and Alfred made it a promise to look through every piece of clothing in the store in order to find something that would make Ivan less disgusting and more human. Continuing to drag the other by his leather bound hand, Alfred made a move to go look at a rack of shirts that looked big enough to fit the large frame he had. Letting go, the blond shuffled through the clothing while rambling on.

"After this little shopping spree, you won't be mistaken for a zombie as much! Well, its not really _shopping ca_use we're just gonna take the clothes, but whatever. Soon you'll look and smell better, so it doesn't matter. That reminds me, we have to stop at the next stream and clean up. We're both beginning to smell like a couple of dumpsters. Maybe we can find some soap too! Aw man, that'd be awesome! We could wash your wounds, get rid of all the blood even. Soon you'll be just another regular human! Er, um, except for the whole eating people thing, but whatever. Hey, what do you think of this shirt?" Turning around, Alfred held up another button down, this one black. He anticipated to see Ivan standing there, but all he got was an empty space.

Cursing softly, he rolled his eyes and put the shirt back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handgun. Better to be safe than sorry when traveling without Ivan. His natural stink prevented other zombies from attacking, but without him nearby, he was just another human, and he didn't know just how abandoned the mall was.

Walking with careful steps and his gun close to him, Alfred called out to the silent air. "Ivan? Where are you, big guy? Use your words if you can." The other was still a zombie, still on the edge of death and life, but he be damned if he didn't try his best to teach him how to talk.

From his right came a shifting noise, followed by a low groan. Then, like a child trying to force out his first word, there came a response. "Here... Find thing..." The words were gutteral, coming from the very back of the throat. They held traces of an accent, a thick one at that, and sounded more like growling than anything. To anyone else, it would be a tone found in nightmares. To Alfred, it was a relief as he dropped his rigid stance, pocketing the gun and walking in the direction of the voice.

Taking his time with getting to Ivan, he began talking again. "Dude, you can't walk off like that. I'm gonna think you wandered into sight of some trigger happy human." He dismissed the fact that he himself was like that and carried on. "And show me what you got then come back over to try on the shirt I want you to wear."

Ivan finally came into view, his back to Alfred as he hunched over slightly to examine the fabric in his hands. With a curious gaze, the human walked up beside the other and glanced over, finding faded pink fabric bunched up and spilling over the zombie's palms. Although he couldn't feel it through the gloves, Ivan kept running his thumbs over the seemingly soft cloth, a scarf upon closer inspection.

"For... For..." He faltered, trailing off into a groan as he clutched the scarf. Then one of his hands moved, making pointing motions towards his neck as he looked over to Alfred. "For this."

Smiling, the blond nodded, reaching over to feel the scarf. "It is soft..." he mumbled despite his hesitation with it being pink. Not even an apocalypse could wear done his desperate need to be _manly_. Looking back to Ivan's face, he sighed and took the fabric. Standing in front of the other now, he wrapped the scarf around his bandaged neck, smiling softly when he saw something resembling a look of happiness cross Ivan's face. Hands resting on the zombie's clothed chest, he had to admit to admiring the way the article seemed to meld to become a part of the other, the cleanliness of it a sore thumb among the rest of his attire. Even so, it made him look absolutely... Handsome was the first word that popped into Alfred's head, but he forced it away. Ivan might have been adjusting to life, but he was still a zombie, a victim of the damn disease, and he shouldn't even be touching any part of his body besides his hand.

Alfred backed up, subtly wiping his hands on his pants as he looked Ivan over once more. "Looks great, buddy. How about we find some more clothes for you to change into and we'll be on our way." A nod was his reply, the other having a hand up to his neck to rub at the pink fabric more. Smiling again, he took the hand not occupied and walked in the direction of the rack of shirts.

That's right. Ivan was a zombie, he couldn't get too attached. There was always a chance that he would get shot, finally die the way he was supposed to to. However, even as that thought bounced around in his head, it gave him a headache, only intensifying as he watched Ivan sift through the clothes, eyes looking almost alive as he still fingered the fabric around his neck. Feeling as though his ribcage was collapsing on itself, Alfred shook his head and stopped thinking about death, instead zeroing in on the the hideous striped shirt the zombie was holding up.

"This?"

Making a face, Alfred pretended to gag as he took the shirt and threw it over his shoulder. "_You_ might be dead, but your fashion sense shre as hell isn't going with you." Another pang of aching in his chest, another forced smile as he forgot even using the word dead. "Let's just find you something less ugly."

With a curt nod from Ivan, the two got to work picking out clothes for the larger man, about an hour filled with laughter and side glances, not a worry in the world as the disregarded the future and their statuses.

Right now, they were Alfred and Ivan, shopping for clothes together in a full functioning mall. And every time Ivan looked over at the human, saw him smiling or even just humming along to some song in his head to fill the silence, he swore he could feel the long-deceased heart inside his chest beat ever so slightly, and for the first time since he was bitten, he felt _alive_.


End file.
